


The Secret Visit

by otterlyardent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterlyardent/pseuds/otterlyardent
Summary: While Hermione Granger is in the Hospital Wing in second-year, Draco Malfoy covertly visits the Muggle-born witch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I do not own Harry Potter. Only J. K. Rowling can claim that, but the words found below - I claim that shit!
> 
> This story came from a prompt on Tumblr and was meant to be a one-shot. It's now going to be a full-length fic and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Much love. xx
> 
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=idcarr)   
> 

He had always disliked the Hospital Wing. Just walking through the doors sent a chill down his spine, and as soon as the overwhelming antiseptic smell hit his nose, his stomach soured. The sheer number of privacy shields in use caused the small, pale, pointy-faced boy to swallow reflexively against the sudden lump in his throat. Pewter-coloured eyes searched for Madam Pomfrey before he heard the muffled humming of the school’s healer coming from her office. Draco allowed himself a small sigh of relief, but it did very little to alleviate his anxiety.

A battle was being waged within the second-year - between what he knew in his heart to be right and how what was right was in direct opposition to what was expected of a Malfoy. Tugging roughly at his school tie, the young wizard flexed his fingers against the torn page held carefully in his other hand. It had been dumb-luck that allowed Draco to overhear his father speaking with some of his associates that fateful morning, but as he’d crept closer to his father’s cracked office door, it became increasingly apparent that he had orders to carry out. At the mention of the Basilisk, the young wizard’s blood ran cold. However, ice formed in his veins at his father’s final words.  


_“With any luck, Potter’s pet mudblood will be the one to die this time.”_

_Draco’s vision had narrowed and there had been a ringing in his ears as he tried to wrap his mind around what he’d just overheard. The boy was well aware of his father’s views on blood purity, he had to be. It was something that had been force-fed to him from age four on when he’d asked his mother if they could visit the Muggle park near their home at breakfast. He would never forget the sound of the crystal carafe shattering against the hard dining room floor, drawing his attention to his father and the way his face was mottled with rage. Lucius Malfoy’s cane made several enlightening arguments on his behalf, mostly on his little boy’s backside, and from that day on, Draco understood that Muggles were filthy animals and leagues beneath wizards and witches in worth._

_The young boy had stumbled away from the office and back toward his own room, repeatedly swallowing back sour, hot bile that was fighting to expel itself from his body. He didn’t even like Granger. Not really. She was a buck-toothed, bushy-haired, know-it-all-swot Gryffindor - what was there to like? The thought barely had time to take root before his mind was supplying answers._

_Granger was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. She quickly met and surpassed every other student in their year academically, simultaneously painting a rather large target on her back. Granger was also kind. Disgustingly so. She was genuine, considerate, and insanely loyal to those she cared for, things that often annoyed and angered Draco beyond all reason. There was a small, quiet part of himself that could acknowledge his own miserable jealousy and bitter resignation fueled his arrogant, condescending, and oftentimes despicable behaviour towards the Muggle-born witch. He didn’t enjoy it, though he was certain the witch would vehemently disagree. In truth, Draco behaved the way he did to keep them both safe._

_After quietly slipping into his room, the platinum blonde boy shuffled towards his overly-large bed and fell face-first into his pillows. For so long, he’d dreamed of going off to Hogwarts and finally finding a true friend, one that matched his intellect and wouldn’t tease him for his own bookish tendencies. And when he first laid eyes on Hermione Granger, so tiny (except for her hair) and proper - Draco sensed a kindred spirit in the petite, perfectly-mannered witch. When he learned her heritage, there hadn’t been just disappointment weighing heavily against the young wizard, but also a genuine feeling of devastation. There was something special about the little Gryffindor with wild, untamed curls framing her round, cherubic face and bright, sparkling amber eyes - but that didn’t matter._

_She was Muggle-born first and foremost. If he allowed himself to contemplate what made the witch special, it would leave him vulnerable and more likely to make mistakes. Lucius had eyes everywhere. So, sadly, he pushed those dangerous thoughts from his mind and put on his Malfoy mask. A decision that would haunt him continuously, especially following their first Halloween in the castle. Whatever happened with that troll cemented the friendship between Granger, Potty, and the Weasel - and unknowingly set his jealousy aflame - exacerbating his already prickly disposition._

_A loud crack, one that ricocheted off the walls before bouncing around inside his skull and intensifying his already pounding headache, marked the arrival of his personal elf, Posy._

_“Young Master must get up!” The house-elf squeaked indignantly, her high-pitched voice reaching an octave Draco believed might cause irreparable damage to his hearing. After a quick check to make sure his ears weren’t bleeding, he looked her way and grumbled petulantly, “I’m up. No need to get your knickers in a twist, Posy.”_  
_  
_ “Master and Mistress are waiting for you in the travel room. Did young Master forget his trip to Diagon Alley? Oh!” Posy’s thin, long-fingered hands covered her gasp. Draco grimaced, correctly assuming he still looked shaken, and likely more pale than usual. He had eavesdropped on his cold, calculating father and overheard his deplorable hopes for a young girl’s death. An entirely valid reason - if only it wouldn’t mean a beating if he were found out.

_“I have a bit of a headache, Posy,” Draco mumbled and moved to sit up on the edge of his bed. “Could you tell Mother and Father that I’ll be down, as soon as I take a pain potion?” Wide, worried blue eyes blinked up at him while Posy offered a quick, jerky nod. With a snap, the elf disappeared and Draco stood, ready to make his way to the apothecary cabinet when his caring elf returned with a vial of the bright blue potion and a glass of ice-cold water to wash it down._  
_  
_ “Thank you, Posy,” he said in a quiet, gentle tone of voice reserved only for his Mother and elf before he uncorked the potion and swallowed the bitter, vile liquid. He eagerly accepted the proffered drink and took long, greedy pulls until the glass was empty. With another quick snap, the elf held out his school robes. Feeling a touch sentimental, the young wizard dropped a quick kiss to Posy’s head in thanks. Her answering smile was as brilliant as her large eyes were reproachful. He understood, of course. His father would not approve of such open affection being displayed towards creatures so far beneath wizards. So, in true Slytherin fashion, he flashed the elf a disarmingly sweet, boyish grin as he fastened his robes and strolled from the room.

_Smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his cloak kept his hands busy and allowed the wizard a chance to rid himself of some of his nervous energy, though his carefully crafted blank mask would hide his turbulent thoughts from parental detection - or at least he hoped it would. Of course, as soon as he entered the travel room, his mother, the effortlessly graceful Narcissa Malfoy pounced. Her soft hands cupped his cheeks before she pressed a firm kiss to the centre of his forehead._

_“No fever,” his mother murmured in the soft, adoring voice solely reserved for her only son and heir. “Are you feeling up to our shopping trip, my dragon? We still have time if you need to rest.”_  
  
_“You coddle the boy too much, Cissa,” his father scoffed, rapping his cane against the marble floor. “He’s fine,” Lucius assured his wife, cutting an irritated yet appraising look toward his son. “Aren’t you, boy?”_  
  
_“Yes, Father,” Draco responded immediately. “I apologize for making both of you wait, time slipped away from me it seems.”_  
  
_“My sweet, darling boy,” his mother crooned at him, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks. “Alright then, let’s get a move on - you both know how awful the crowds are this time of year. Lucius, my dearest?” Narcissa’s voice was honeyed and low, a sure sign she was about to ask for something his father wouldn’t be thrilled with._  
_  
_ Taking a hand of floo powder before passing the heavy bag to his wife and son, Lucius rolled his eyes. “What do you want, my sweet flower?” The exhausted tenor in his voice spoke to how often this particular trick was used against him.

_“Persephone Parkison invited me to lunch last minute, would you mind terribly if I skipped the bookstore? We can meet at Madam Malkins after?” Narcissa’s smile was bright as the late-morning sun and she rewarded her husband with a lingering kiss after he consented to the change of plans, prompting a scowl of disgust from their son before the witch threw the powder on the fire. She called out the restaurant's name and location then disappeared into the crackling, emerald flames in the grate._

_“We’ll go through Borgin and Burkes, son. I have no desire to deal with all the riff-raff and plot an escape of an overcrowded Leaky Cauldron,” Lucius’ cold, steel-grey eyes, nearly identical to his son’s, made it clear there would be no arguing. Draco didn’t mind, really. He knew Borgin and Burkes didn’t have the best reputation, but his father conducted a rather large amount of business at the Knockturn establishment so a quick cut-through wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The pre-teen travelled through the emerald-hued twists and turns first, stepping away from the fireplace for his father while brushing ash off his robes. The cool tingle of a spell hitting him between the shoulders made the pale boy flinch before he recognized his father’s magical signature._

_“Thank you,” Draco murmured, admiring his now spotless robes briefly before falling into step behind his father, following him to the counter._  
_  
_ “You’re welcome, my son. I have something to pick up, but it should only take a moment.” Lucius offered the clerk a nod, then turned back to his son and issued a command. “Do not touch anything.”

_“Yes, Father,” the boy responded in a monotone voice, daring to roll his eyes only after his father’s attention turned back to the clerk. Draco wandered toward the exit, eager to get to Flourish & Blotts. The more he considered his earlier eavesdropping, the Slytherin thought it might be in his best interest to see if he could get his hands on any information on Basilisks...just in case. Absorbed in his scheming, he didn’t realize he was reaching out to touch a cursed object until a familiar and excruciating pain bloomed across the traitorous extremity. _

_“What part of ‘do not touch anything’ did you not understand?” Draco swallowed reflexively against the cold fury in his father’s voice and dropped his eyes to the floor._

_“Sorry, Father. I wasn’t paying attention,” the young wizard mournfully sighed._

_“You could have been killed. Next time, try paying closer attention.” Pinching the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration, Lucius grumbled under his breath for several seconds before shaking his head giving his heir a look that was clearly meant as an insult to his intelligence. “Let us get this ordeal over with.” Knowing he was already on thin ice, the boy followed the elder wizard silently out of the shop, keeping as close to his father as he dared, while they navigated Knockturn Alley. It was far from his first merry stroll down the seedy street but the way he could always feel more than one pair of eyes on him every time they visited unnerved the pre-teen._

_His relief was palpable as they left the dark and dreary Knockturn and rounded the corner to the much brighter, livelier, and more hospitable Diagon Alley._

_“Will you be able to keep yourself from trouble while I pay for your supplies and arrange their delivery?” His father quipped sarcastically with a smirk twisting his lips, and pushed open the door to Flourish & Blotts, where the soft chime of a bell announced their arrival. It was packed, as it always is during the ‘Back to Hogwarts’ rush. Lucius’ upper lip curled in disgust before he levelled a serious look on his boy. “Do not wander too far or out of the store without me. Your mother would gleefully murder me in my sleep if I lost you, whether in a crowded store or to potential kidnappers wanting a ransom.” _

_“Not a problem, Father. There are few books I wanted to look into, so I’ll probably stay close to the stacks.” Now that he had the information he desperately wanted close at hand, Draco had to restrain himself until his father was completely out of sight. Once he’d been absorbed into the crowd of parent’s eager to pay and get a move on, the young Slytherin spun on his heels and made a beeline for the Magical Creatures section, having to search the shelves twice because he somehow missed the bloody thing the first time._

_Quickly scanning the table of contents to find the page of the creature that interested him the most presently, Draco also made sure that no one was paying close attention to him personally. He couldn’t help but grimace at the loud noise ripping the page made but kept reminding himself that it was a matter of life and death. Surely anyone would understand the special position he was placed in, right? As it happened, there were simply too many customers and not enough employees, so the young wizard was able to fulfil his mission quite easily, he’d expected more obstacles and found himself rather bored._

_Searching the shop for familiar faces, the Slytherin froze and found he couldn’t look away when an unruly mane of coffee-coloured curls bounced around the corner. He watched as the witch lovingly brushed her fingertips over the spines, investigating some more closely than others, all while a content smile curved her full lips skyward. There was something about that action, the tenderness in which the young which greeted those books like long lost friends that left him feeling breathless and shaken._

_Vulnerable and disturbed by his reaction to Granger, Draco hardened his features and made his way over, until he was standing just off to her side. Many irreverent insults came to mind, were poised on the tip of his tongue, when an errant thought silenced him. As he was busy staring at the witch’s chaotic curls and wondering what exactly would happen if he tugged on one - would it immediately spring back to its rightful place - the realization that if Granger was here, her parents would be as well._  
  
_And they were likely caught in the gaggle of parents vying to purchase their children’s necessities, along with his father. Dread, and possibly a small bit of concern washed over the boy, but as fate would have it, his attention was pulled from the suddenly frightening tenor of his thoughts by Gilderoy Lockhart making a spectacle of Potty. He had a hard time not laughing when Granger jumped in fright at the sound of his voice, looking over her shoulder with wide, warm eyes._  
  
_Draco was in his element, ready to really tear into Potter, when his father reappeared and ultimately silenced him._  


_One thing was certain, the young wizard would never forget the malicious intent that lit up his father’s eyes as he spoke with the Muggle-born witch._

Shaking his head and clearing his mind from the onslaught of memories, Draco looked at the ripped page in his hand once more. Why hadn’t he given it to her sooner? He’d known, ever since the first bloody message appeared, what he would have to do. And even though it went against everything he’d been taught, he wanted to. Squaring his shoulders, the pale wizard crept further into the hospital wing, passing Colin Creevey and Penelope Clearwater before he found the witch he came for.

The first glimpse of her petite, petrified form stole the breath from his lungs. Without thinking, his feet shuffled forward bringing him to her bedside. One of her hands was frozen in the air and Draco couldn’t tear his eyes from it. His heart seemed to be racing within the confines of his chest and the vilest sense of responsibility crashed down around him. After all, he’d known and done nothing.

He was still doing nothing.

“I’m sorry, Granger,” the blond wizard whispered morosely. Crushing self-disgust overwhelmed him, and when he began shaking ever so slightly, he took the visitor’s chair next to her bed. “I never wanted any of this to happen. Not really. I swear it.”

He felt sick. His stomach kept rolling and twisting, his skin was clammy, and he felt cold. So very, very cold. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience and staring into Granger’s vacant, fixed eyes was enough to crack the hardened veneer of his Malfoy upbringing. With a trembling chin, and eyes filling with tears, Draco reached out and took hold of the hand at her side. She was cold to the touch, almost as cold as he felt inside, and her skin - usually warm, rosy, and if his imagination was correct, extremely soft - felt like stone.

“You know, Granger, I have to remind myself on a daily basis that I’m not the monster I pretend to be. But seeing you like this?” He wasn’t proud of the way his voice would crack and break over every other word and kept using the sleeve of his robe to wipe away all evidence of his tears, but he couldn’t seem to make it stop either. “I should’ve stopped it. At the very least, I should have given you this stupid scrap of paper when you could still do something about it. And I didn’t. Oh no, I was waiting for the perfect moment - and then…”

Swallowing thickly, the young Slytherin squeezed his schoolmates petrified hand, and hung his head. “And then it was too late.”

Granting himself a few moments to wallow, Draco held onto her hand as if it were his only lifeline while his free hand viciously tugged and yanked at his hair. Quiet sobs escaped his lips, and he was sure he’d revisit this memory often in the future, trying to figure out why seeing her like this affected him so much. He wanted to brush it off, call it a moment of weakness, or argue that he’d be just as affected seeing any of their classmates in such dire straits. Lying to himself was second nature, after all. But this _was_ different, _she_ was different. And he wanted nothing more than to help her, save her, but all he had to offer was a torn book page, with one word scribbled on the page and underlined.

“I don’t know what to do, Granger. I really don’t. I wish I had to come to you sooner, I wish I could have this conversation with you alert and responsive and apologize for my many mistakes and blunders. I wish I could be the kind of person you are. But wishing won’t help you and it certainly won’t help me - and it’s likely that nothing will ever change.” Draco slowly lifted his head and met those brilliant amber eyes of hers, frozen and unblinking, and decided he might never have another opportunity - so why not unburden himself?  
  
“I’m awful to you because I’m jealous. Isn’t that a laugh? Don’t get me wrong, Granger, I have had my moments where I’m envious of your intelligence, or how undeniably _good_ you are - but mostly, I’ve just been a green-eyed monster the past two years because…” Meeting her eyes, even in her current state, proved to be too much for the Slytherin and so, he went back to staring at her hand clutched by his own. “I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to get to know you and allow you to get to know me, I wanted you to share all the things you share with those two dunderheads that follow you around like lost puppies - with me. But because of who I am, who my father is, and what I’m expected to believe…” A weary sigh was forcefully expelled from his lungs and Draco’s shoulders slumped in defeat.  
  
“You’re always going to hate me. I think I’m slowly coming to terms with that. I hate it, believe me or not. I wish there was a way to show you there’s more to who I am than mean-spirited taunts and pointless hate, because then maybe someday - but optimism is much more your style, don’t you think?” Peeking through his long, almost-white lashes at her face, he offered the poor girl a rather devastated smirk. After a pregnant pause, he released the witch’s hand and carefully reached for one of her insane curls. Even petrified and confined to an awful hospital bed, her hair felt like silk between his fingers.  
  
Gently, unsure if she could feel pain in her current state, the wizard tugged playfully on the strand. A broken-sounding chuckle fell from his lips when the curl bounced back, finally answering one of at least a million questions he had in regards to Hermione Granger.

“I think things are going to get really bad, Granger,” Draco whispered, winding the curl around a finger. “And I’m frightened. I’m sure that wouldn’t surprise you any. But I don’t want to be like my father and I don’t want to do horrible things and I know I’m not going to have a choice. But I promise you, Granger - if and when I can - I’ll always try to help you.” A loud noise came from Madam Pomfrey’s office, reminding him that he could be caught at her bedside with tear-stained cheeks, baring his soul, and playing with her hair.

With much regret, he let the curl fall back against her pillow. Still, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away and allowed himself one more small concession. Draco cupped her face in his hand, brushing a thumb across her cheek. He was surprised how much that one, small gesture hurt. Right in the center of his chest was an exquisite ache that left him feeling hollow and confused. But it also emboldened him, or perhaps Gryffindor bravery was contagious, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he might never get another chance, so for once in his life he didn’t overthink it.  
  
“I think you’re incredible, Hermione Granger,” the words were barely a whisper and yet he felt a weight lift from his chest as soon as they fell from his lips. With a wobbly smile, he pulled away from the witch and carefully folded the ripped page. When that was done, he slipped it into the hand he had been holding, tucked carefully behind her dainty, slightly curled fingers. Hopefully, the dunderhead duo would visit and find the blasted thing and fix her.

They just had to fix her.

Draco could hear Pomfrey moving around in her office and knew his time had run out. As he stood, the young wizard brushed his fingertips over the back of her hand. He couldn’t seem to stop touching the poor girl. Accosting a witch in her sleep? What would his mother think?  
  
“I must be off. Can’t be caught mourning at your side, now can I?” He turned to leave, before looking over his shoulder at the baffling witch once more. “You have to get better, Granger. Do you hear me? This can’t be the end. I refuse to accept that. So, please...please fight. You’re strong, if anyone can do it, it’s you. I’m so sorry, Granger. You’ll never know how sorry I am.” And with that said, he turned and all but ran from the room.  
  
A moment later, the office door swung open and Madam Pomfrey emerged, staring at the doors the young Malfoy had just disappeared through. It often blew her mind that students just assumed she didn’t have ways of monitoring her patients even if she wasn’t in the room. She’d been concerned when the young man entered, tales of the animosity between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were legendary within the walls of the school and the healer could see no good coming from a visit. But it became readily apparent the young man was struggling and upset, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt and sat back, listening as he poured his heart out.

The healer stopped to check on the Creevey boy and Clearwater girl, no change of course, before moving to the foot of Miss Granger’s bed. Staring at the petrified girl, unable to fix her, or any of the other children, was almost too much to stand. Their whole lives were out there, waiting for them, and the best answer the adults charged with their care could come up with was to wait and hope.

“I think that boy might fancy you, Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey warned in her best motherly voice, but couldn’t hold back her slightly-crooked grin. “It’s a shame you’ll have no memory of this. He was very sweet. Not something I’m used to saying in regards to Mister Malfoy, as I’m sure you’re aware,” her laughter felt too loud and out of place and quickly died in her throat. Patting Miss Granger’s blanketed feet, the matronly healer paused to consider the unlikely pair. Pressing her lips firmly together, she gave the young witch’s feet one more loving pat, before she stalked back into her office with purpose. The healer grabbed an empty vial from her shelves and pulled her wand from the deep pocket in her skirt. Carefully, Madam Pomfrey extracted the memory and stoppered the glass. In neat script, she wrote the date and both children’s initials before another wave of her wand opened her locked cabinet. She didn’t know if she’d ever share the memories with girl currently occupying one of the healer’s beds, but wasn’t it always best to be prepared for any eventuality?

The mediwitch closed and relocked the cabinet, left her office, and continued her rounds.  
  
Her thoughts, however, often returned to the sad blonde, and she found herself rooting for the lonely, broken boy she’d seen at Miss Granger’s side. Perhaps she would share those memories with the witch in question, after all. The healer groaned and shook her head.

Plenty of time to think about that later.

  
  
  



	2. A Secret Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do play with the timeline just a smidge in this chapter, but I don't believe it's that noticeable. 
> 
> This chapter made my chest ache, but I must admit, I love it. 
> 
> And to answer a question left in the comments about who says Hermione wouldn't remember the events of last chapter? 
> 
> I did. Because if i wrote it that way, I could expand the story from a one-shot and give these two an ally they wouldn't have otherwise. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! Much love and thanks for taking time out of your busy lives to read my silly stories. You're the best. xx

Poppy Pomfrey always thought herself to be a rational, considerate witch that genuinely adored her student charges. In all her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she’d developed deep, lasting bonds with hundreds, if not thousands of students. Though recently, one charge had her desperately concerned for their wellbeing. The student?

Draco Malfoy.

Four years ago, the boy had snuck into her Hospital Wing where children petrified by a Basilisk had been kept and carefully monitored, and bared his soul to a young lady he often ridiculed and tormented. His moment of vulnerability and honesty opened the healer’s eyes. Sadly, she hadn’t been a big fan of the spoiled, arrogant boy before witnessing how sweet, gentle, and kind he was in that one unguarded moment. The Mediwitch spent the remainder of that dreadful year pondering over what she’d witnessed, often speaking with the petrified witch - one Hermione Granger - regarding her thoughts on the matter, though the young girl wouldn’t remember those conversations once healed.

Poppy had always been a secret romantic. Heart-warming confessions and grand gestures often touched the woman deeply, and the young Mr Malfoy’s hadn’t been any different. As such, she’d kept a close eye on both students. See, the healer had extracted the memory and stored it away, safe and secure. More than once, she’d considered calling Hermione to the Hospital Wing and showing the witch what young Draco had done for her. But each and every time, the young wizard would do or say something so unbelievably horrible and vile to the Muggle-born witch, and Poppy would change her mind.

That is until the pair’s sixth year.

Their third year the whole castle was on edge, thanks to Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and the awful dementors sent to search for him. Voldemort had returned at the end of their fourth year. And their fifth year? That horrible woman, Dolores Umbridge, very nearly destroyed everything Hogwarts stood for. The healer had considered resigning after her friend and confidant, Minerva McGonagall, had been hit in the chest by four Stunning Spells and nearly died on the pink, toad-like woman’s orders. Only her concern for the students made her stay.

To say her hopes hadn’t been very high coming into what would be their sixth year would be a massive understatement. Though she’d seen and heard Draco’s tenderness with her own two eyes and ears, Poppy struggled to reconcile that boy and the one she’d hear horror stories about. She’d first spotted him at the Welcome Feast, arriving a little late, with obvious bruising and abrasions on his right hand. Later, she’d see Harry Potter’s bloody, likely broken and quickly healed nose, his blackened eyes and had little doubt over what had occurred. The year wasn’t off to the best start, and Poppy wasn’t sure _what_ it was that she kept waiting for, a sign perhaps that if she shared that memory with Miss Granger, it would help Mr Malfoy? Or bring him some happiness? He’d said as much that fateful evening by her bedside, but his every action since negated his words.

Still, the woman watched from afar, helping and healing when needed. It didn’t take long for her to realize something was dreadfully wrong. The young Malfoy looked gaunt, with dark bruises under his eyes. The healer would surreptitiously watch during meals as he would push his food around, feigning interest, but never eating a bite. He no longer socialized with his housemates, in fact, it seemed as if a select few of them had been tasked with watching his every move.

She couldn’t help but worry for the boy, and that’s what he was, only a boy.

Her sense of duty, honour, and loyalty demanded she do something, help the young man in whatever way she might be able. And that is what brought her to the Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Poppy,” Albus smiled when she entered, though it didn’t entirely reach his eyes and the healer couldn’t help but notice the way he hid his hands from view. Lovely, another worry to add to an ever-growing list. “I wasn’t expecting a visit, but would never deny myself the joy of your wonderful company. How may I help you?”  
  
“Thank you, Albus,” she returned with a kind smile of her own. Taking the seat directly across from him, on the other side of his cluttered desk, Poppy loosed a long a sigh. “I’m terribly concerned about one of our students, old friend. I’ve held my tongue long enough, I’m worried he’s in trouble and needs our help.”  
  
The Headmaster’s eyes widened and he sat up, straightening his back and shoulders, realizing the gravitas of the mediwitch's visit. “This is very serious indeed, then. Might I ask who?”  
  
With another deep breath and slow exhale to settle her nerves, Poppy nodded. Twisting the fabric of her long skirts between her fingers, the witch burst out, “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how dreadful Mr Malfoy looks, Albus! Every single one of us has seen that poor boy walking around like - like an Inferi! He’s nearly skeletal, he doesn’t eat, doesn’t socialize. I know he’s not the kindest boy, but something is wrong. I know it is. And I begging you to interfere, Albie. He’s just a boy. Whatever this is, he won’t survive alone. You know that. You have to.”  
  
Following her outburst, the Headmaster’s face fell, confirming her suspicions. Albus had his moments where one had to question whether he was ‘all there’ but Poppy had known he wouldn’t be blind to one of his charges suffering. As the silence stretched on, however, with the elder wizard opening his mouth to respond, only to sigh and remain silent repeatedly, disappointment and what felt much like betrayal left her returning his stare in disbelief.

“Now, Poppy,” he began, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “Of course, I’ve noticed Draco’s odd behaviour, but rumour has it that he and Miss Parkinson had a falling out and their on-again, off-again relationship is now fully off. Do you think you might be reading too much into this?”

His words did give her pause and might have convinced her, had he not looked away from her penetrating stare to fiddle with his spectacles. Poppy had known Albus for decades, considered the man family even, and as such, knew his tells. He was hiding something, knew something in regards to Mr Malfoy, and was lying through his teeth. Swallowing down the bitterness that overcame her, she attempted another smile.

“Is that so? I hadn’t known that.” She lied. Of course, she knew, she’d been keeping such close tabs on both Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger over the last several years, she’d be gobsmacked if there wasn’t much of anything she _didn’t_ know. Albus finally glanced her way once more and seemingly satisfied he’d dodged her questioning and demands, grinned in a conspiratorial way.

“Ah, the perils of young love. Lemon Drop?” He held out the candy dish piled high with the tart sweets.  
  
“No. No, thank you, Albus. I really should be off, loads to do. I feel quite silly now,” she returned, standing and smoothing down her skirts. “Thank you for your time.”  
  
With one last searching look, the Headmaster dipped his chin in acknowledgement and the healer offered a wry half-smile before seeing herself out. Though stomping down the twisting stairwell did no one any good, at least she felt marginally better than she had following her friend’s deceitful behaviour. Her only other option would be Severus, and while they got on well, it was highly unlikely he’d tell her anything. In fact, she’d be willing to wager money on Severus and Albus being in cahoots. They were always whispering to one another these days it seemed.

Wandering aimlessly through the halls, she shared a few kind words with students that approached her but was mostly left to her thoughts. And round and round they went until she found herself entering the Great Hall for lunch. Distracted, disturbed, and no closer to an answer than she had been, Poppy kept her eyes down while approaching the Heads’ table. She considered confiding in Minerva but knowing how fond her friend was of Miss Granger, the healer ultimately decided to keep quiet.

Having very little appetite, the witch picked at her food and didn’t join any of the conversations between the faculty. Instead, her eyes would drift repeatedly to the ghostly pale young man with brilliant blonde hair. Once again, he wasn’t eating. Instead, he seemed to be lost in thought, his cheek propped up against a hand. He looked utterly miserable and Poppy’s heart ached for the poor boy. Cutting her eyes to Albus, the witch poured as much anger and defiance into her glare as she could. The older wizard must have sensed her eyes on him because he looked her way and his eyebrows met his hairline at the hostility simmering in her expressive eyes.

Angry and hurt, she threw down her napkin and pushed away from the table. She’d be happier in her own space. Just as she began to descend the few steps down from the faculty table, her eyes caught and held on Hermione Granger. The young witch looked terribly worried and a fresh wave a panic seemed to sweep the feet out from under the healer until she followed Miss Granger’s line of sight and a new sense of hope bloomed within. Perhaps she couldn’t convince her nearest and dearest friends to assist the poor boy, but if the way the young lady was carefully watching her Slytherin counterpart and nervously chewing her lip, Poppy had a good feeling she’d just found the only ally she’d need.

With a renewed sense of purpose, the mediwitch quickly made her way over to the Lions’ table and cleared her throat, garnering not only Hermione’s attention but also that of her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

“Can we help you, Madam Pomfrey?” Always so polite, Hermione was. Poppy couldn’t help but offer the sweet girl a kind smile, though her tone was urgent and low when she finally spoke.

“Not we, darling. But you, yes. I need you to come with me to the Hospital Wing, please.” The young witch looked startled but didn’t argue, immediately moving to stand. Harry, however?  
  
“What’s this about? Are you unwell, Hermione? I’ll go with you.” _Such glorious friendship_ , Poppy thought. The emerald-eyed wizard was a steadfast friend and it warmed her to see, but he most definitely could not come with.  
  
“I’m afraid not, Mr Potter. This is a private matter and must be handled as such, I’m sure you understand.” Harry looked ready to argue, glaring at her from behind his glasses. Truth be told, it was a little disconcerting. Hermione squeezed his shoulder with a warm smile and then made her way to Poppy’s side.  
  
“Let it go, mate,” Ronald Weasley chided around a mouthful of potato mash. Offering his best friend a wicked smirk, he leant forward and lowered his voice. “It’s likely about her ‘monthly visitor.’ Don’t want to get involved in all that, do you?”

Harry’s reaction nearly made the older woman fall into a fit of giggles, what with the way he recoiled, disgust and fear twisting his features. “Right. See you later, Hermione.”  
  
“Boys,” Poppy heard Miss Granger grumble and couldn’t help but agree. _Boys, indeed._

The pair of witches walked in companionable silence through the halls and up the stairs. If the young witch was concerned about being pulled away from lunch, she didn’t show it. As they approached the doors to the wing, the Matron decided to open the lines of communication. Miss Granger was in for _quite_ a shock, after all.  
  
“I hope you got enough to eat before I pulled you away from your lunch, darling,” Poppy murmured in her most compassionate tone of voice.

“Oh yes, though I must confess, I’m a bit confused as to why you’ve brought me here,” Hermione responded courteously, following the Healer into her office. “Have I done something or-”

“No! No. Not at all, love. Please, take a seat and I’ll explain everything in a moment.”  
  
Poppy waved her wand in an intricate pattern to unlock her cupboard, and with shaky hands, gathered the vial containing her memory and the small Pensieve she bought years ago. The younger witch watched her every move with a perplexed frown marring her otherwise lovely face as the Healer sat across from her and carefully laid out the supplies, keeping a thumb over the label until she’d had a chance to speak.  
  
“Four years ago, you were brought to me having been petrified by the Basilisk.” Pausing to make sure the witch was alright before continuing, Poppy offered a comforting and disarming smile to soften the blow.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, her confusion more readily apparent, as well as a new sense of wariness. Her brilliant amber eyes transfixed on the vial and the milky wisps of the memory undulating within.

“Not long after, you had a visitor,” the witch struggled to find the right words.  
  
“Harry and Ron?” Hermione squeaked.

“No, they weren’t the first,” Poppy sighed before blowing a flyaway hair from her eyes. “This particular visitor was wholly unexpected. I almost sent them away, but it was obvious they were upset and…” she shrugged, unable to explain her thought processes.

“You let them stay,” the younger witch supplied, earning an enthusiastic nod and grin from the healer.

“I did. Now, many are unaware, but I have my ways of monitoring my patients inside my office. While perhaps not the best use of my monitoring spell, I did eavesdrop. And once your visitor left and I had checked on you, to make absolutely certain you were safe as you could be in your current state, I came back to my office and extracted the memory and put it away for safekeeping.”

Pausing briefly to gather her thoughts, Poppy stretched her free hand across her desk to gently pat the young woman’s hand. Hermione, for her part, stared back blank-faced, but her eyes were glittering with unbridled curiosity.  
  
“Wholly unexpected and you felt compelled to ensure my safety once they left?” The young witch repeated slowly, her eyes narrowing a fraction with each word. Incredible, truly, the witch was brilliant. Poppy felt the girl already knew who’d been at her bedside, but was maintaining her confusion until she’d been proven correct.

“Yes.” Simple, direct and to the point. “I’ve considered sharing this memory with you many times over the past several years, but as you’re well aware, there’s been a fair share of drama that ultimately made my decision for me.” True-ish? Close enough, she decided. “But today I realized you might be the only one who can help this person and I had waited long enough.”  
  
With bated breath, the healer held out the vial to the younger witch and watched her closely. The moment Hermione saw the neatly printed initials she compulsively swallowed, her gulp loud in the otherwise quiet space.

“I - I don’t, Madam Pomfrey, I’m not sure this is the best idea,” the trepidation in the young witch’s voice cut at the mediwitch.

“Miss Granger,” she paused before correcting herself. “Hermione. You need this see this.” Unstoppering the vial, the older witch poured the memory into the Pensieve. “If I thought it would cause you harm, I wouldn’t be doing this. And it’s up to you, but I can either stay and view the memory with you or give you some privacy and you can come to find me once you’re finished.”  
  
“I’d like you to stay,” Hermione whispered. “I’ll view it alone, but could you please stay with me?” Wide brown eyes blinked up at the healer and Poppy had no choice other than agree.

“Whenever you’re ready, dear, just touch the liquid and off you’ll go. I’ll be right here waiting, I promise.”

Hermione felt as if she’d been Stupefied. Repeatedly.

After viewing Madam Pomfrey’s memory, the two had spoken for a bit but she hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything following such a shock. Even before the healer had revealed the initials on the container, she’d known. At the very least, she knew it was a Slytherin, as the mediwitch wouldn’t be concerned by any other house visiting a Muggle-born witch in the infirmary. But the nervous way Madam Pomfrey spoke and seemed to be struggling for words, well, it no longer mattered, did it?  
  
Days passed. The witch couldn’t stop playing the memory over and over in her mind. Draco Malfoy, a boy she was sure would dance on her grave with malicious glee, had rushed to her side as soon as he could following her run-in with the Basilisk. If that alone weren’t enough to blow her mind, his first words to her were, “I’m sorry, Granger.”  
  
What the bloody hell? Had she inadvertently stumbled into an alternate dimension? Draco Malfoy apologized to no one.

But he had.

He’d apologized to her.

Cried over her.

Been gentle, considerate, kind.

Completely at odds with the way he behaved on a daily basis. And all of this culminated into overwhelming confusion and concern on Hermione’s part. Of course, Harry was obsessed with Malfoy, so she was constantly reminded of the Slytherin’s presence and every move, which did nothing to help the repetitive loop her mind seemed stuck in. She’d been so relieved when the first Hogsmeade weekend arrived, eager for few moments of peace within her own mind. She’d enjoyed her boys' company tremendously and felt lighter upon their return to the castle, only to find Katie Bell screaming whilst suspended in the air and all holy hell broke loose.

Harry accused Malfoy. Of course. And as much as Hermione fought against the idea, she knew deep down he was right. But, unlike Harry, she was more concerned with why. Malfoy looked _ill_ these days. He rarely participated in class, something she’d immediately noticed, being her closest competition in school. He barely ate, perhaps a bite or two at each meal. He ignored his friends and basically became an empty shell of the young man he’d been only a year prior.  
  
_“I never wanted any of this to happen. Not really. I swear it.”_

_“You know, Granger, I have to remind myself on a daily basis that I’m not the monster I pretend to be.”_

_“I’m awful to you because I’m jealous. Isn’t that a laugh? Don’t get me wrong, Granger, I have had my moments where I’m envious of your intelligence, or how undeniably good you are - but mostly, I’ve just been a green-eyed monster the past two years because I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to get to know you and allow you to get to know me, I wanted you to share all the things you share with those two dunderheads that follow you around like lost puppies - with me. But because of who I am, who my father is, and what I’m expected to believe…”_

Hermione groaned under her breath, pushing the food around on her plate. Harry sat at her side, grumbling in an undertone in her ear about the wizard she already couldn’t stop thinking about and it took all the restraint she possessed not to tell him to shut up and go jump in the lake. Beyond harping on about Malfoy constantly, Harry had done nothing wrong. Still, if he didn’t stop soon, she might be forced to stab him with her fork.

_“You’re always going to hate me. I think I’m slowly coming to terms with that. I hate it, believe me, or not. I wish there was a way to show you there’s more to who I am than mean-spirited taunts and pointless hate, because then maybe someday - but optimism is much more your style, don’t you think?”_

Did she hate him?

The short answer was no. She’d never hated _him,_ his actions and words, maybe, but not _him._ Hermione understood that he’d been taught to hate, long before taking a dip in Madam Pomfrey’s memory, and afterwards? Well, it was clear she _didn’t_ know everything.

_“I think things are going to get really bad, Granger. And I’m frightened. I’m sure that wouldn’t surprise you any. But I don’t want to be like my father and I don’t want to do horrible things and I know I’m not going to have a choice. But I promise you, Granger - if and when I can - I’ll always try to help you.”_

The witch was so absorbed in her thoughts, she only just barely heard Harry say Katie’s name. As he jumped to his feet and rushed to question the poor girl, Hermione couldn’t shake those words: ‘I’ll always try to help you.’ Had he been right? Was his odd behaviour this year because things had gone really badly? Was he being forced to do something? Had Katie -

The hush that stole over the Great Hall brought her out of her thoughts, and Hermione looked up spotting Harry and Katie staring past her, towards the entrance. Confused, she followed their lead and turned to investigate only to have her heart wind up lodged in her throat. Just there, looking stricken, wan, and much too pale, stood Draco Malfoy. Without another thought, Hermione stood - a good thing too, because Harry was already on the move - and blocked his path.

“Hermione! Move! I need to follow that wanker. I know he did this,” the raven-haired wizard all but growled.  
  
“No, Harry!” She responded forcefully, grasping her friend’s shoulders. “If you go chasing after him half-cocked like this, someone will end up hurt. I’ll follow him, okay? Make sure he stays out of trouble and see if I can find out anything. But you have to stay here, do you understand? Please, Harry,” she had no qualms using every weapon in her arsenal against him because she knew she right. Nothing good would come from a confrontation between the two.

He was angry, she could see the fire burning in his brilliant green eyes, but he must’ve seen her reasoning because he gave her a stiff nod and brushed her hands off his shoulders, coldly responding, “Better get moving then.”  


Lovely, yet another mess she’d have to clear up. The witch didn’t argue, however, grabbing her bag and immediately giving chase. Luckily, she caught a glimpse of his tale-tell platinum locks racing up the stairs and was able to follow at a distance. Her heart felt like it was close to beating right out of her chest, and Hermione felt sick with nerves. What had she been thinking? Draco Malfoy wouldn’t talk to her! Well, not when she was conscious anyway.

Still, she dutifully marched after him, floor after floor, twist after turn until she stood outside the boys’ bathroom on the sixth floor. The brunette stared at the door miserably, knowing she had to go in, and wishing more than anything she could tuck tail and run far, far away. Taking a deep breath and gathering her strength and courage to wrap around herself like a shield, the witch slowly and carefully opened the door and slipped inside.

Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blonde head bowed.  
  
“Don’t,” crooned Moaning Myrtle’s voice from one of the cubicles. “Don’t … tell me what’s wrong … I can help you …”  


“'No one can help me,” said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it … I can’t … it won’t work … and unless I do it soon … he says he’ll kill me …”

Hermione recognized the pattern of speech from the memory that seemed to haunt her every waking moment and knew without a doubt Malfoy was crying. Her heart broke for the boy, and she felt no sense of pride in being right. He was being forced to do something, under threat of death, no less. Horrified and shaken to the core, Hermione covered her gaping mouth with a shaking hand. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she was able to hold them in check, just barely.

Malfoy was crying – actually sobbing – tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Hermione staring at him over his shoulder.  
  
Malfoy wheeled round, drawing his wand. Instinctively, the witch threw her empty hands into the air, showing she was unarmed and fervently hoping the wizard would uphold the code of conduct of duels. She had no desire to cause Malfoy any more harm or pain than he was already experiencing, and staring down the length of his wand, she knew without a doubt she’d been right to stop Harry from following the Slytherin.  
  
“What are you doing here, Granger?” Malfoy demanded, his wand arm shaking as he glared at her with so much fury, it sent a chill through her.

“I was worried about you,” she whispered, her eyes bouncing between his face and wand. A furrow appeared between his pale brows and Hermione felt herself relax minutely. He was confused, but listening, and she confident so long as she didn’t pose a threat to him, he wouldn’t dare harm her.  
  
“Worried,” Malfoy repeated dubiously. “About me?” Movement by the stalls stole the witch’s attention for a split-second, long enough to confirm it was only Moaning Myrtle watching their confrontation with round, frightened eyes.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. She cleared her throat and repeated herself, more forcefully, “Yes.”  
  
“I don’t believe you. Were you eavesdropping on me? Tell me,” he demanded.  
  
“I wasn’t, I swear. I only heard the very last bits. Please, Malfoy, could you lower your wand? You’re scaring me.” It was a gamble, she knew it. But the boy that had cried at her bedside was inside the young man standing in front of her - and maybe, just maybe she could appeal to him.  
  
“You should be scared,” Malfoy responded quietly but dropped his wand to his side nonetheless. “What are you doing here, Granger? You hate me, remember? I’m a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach.”

Ouch. If the words weren’t enough to knock her down a peg or three, the flat, lifeless way he spoke would have sufficed. Momentarily dropping her eyes to the tiled floor, she grasped for anything other than the truth. Lying had never been Hermione’s strong suit, and Malfoy was Slytherin through and through. He’d see through her lies immediately. _Bloody fucking hell._

“No, you’re not.” She murmured in a gentle tone of voice, much like the one Myrtle had been using when she came in. “And I don’t hate you,” she added, a little more strength and fire behind those words and much closer to the tone Malfoy was used to from her. Though it hadn’t been the reaction she was aiming for, it was a relief when amusement brightened his eyes and mood, if only a little.

“Oh, you don’t?” Malfoy quipped sarcastically. “What brought about this fascinating turn of events, Granger? Do tell.”

_Shit._

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Hermione quickly surveyed her options and her shoulders slumped when she came to the realization that she’d have to tell him... _everything._

“Be-because,” she huffed and crossed her arms defensively. “Because you made me a promise once.” The look of absolute confusion he sent her way would have been immensely humourous in any other situation. In for a penny, in for a pound - straightening her spine, Hermione quoted:

“I promise you, Granger - if and when I can - I’ll always try to help you.”

Malfoy stumbled backwards, gripping the sink basin he crashed into to hold himself upright and stared at her in shock.

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t do the same for you?” She offered with a half-hearted shrug.

“How?” Malfoy breathed. “C-could you hear me? Have you known all this time?”

Hermione shook her head in the negative and dropped her eyes.

“Look at me, Granger!” His near-hysterical voice brought her attention back to him immediately, tears blurring her vision that she fought against with every ounce of strength she had. “How?” Malfoy asked in trembling voice, his lower lip quivering and the witch was surprised to find him on the verge of tears again, as well.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione breathed. “I don’t know how she did it exactly, I think it’s a monitoring spell of her own design, but she witnessed the whole thing and a few weeks ago, she, er, asked me to accompany her to the hospital wing and presented me with her memory of it all.”

Malfoy gulped and dropped his chin to his chest, slowly nodding. The tension between the two was thick and the witch felt woefully unprepared for the task before her, and yet as she slowly approached the Slytherin boy, it felt almost familiar. They’d never been friends, but she’d offer comfort to Harry or Ron in a similar situation, wouldn’t she? Pewter eyes snapped to hers, likely having seen her shoes moving closer, and she stopped a few feet from him, unsure if he’d be comfortable with her coming any closer.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Hermione hated how her voice broke on his name, calling attention to how close she was to tears and embarrassing enough to make her cheeks bloom with colour. 

“ _You_ have nothing apologize for,” the wizard muttered petulantly, his eyes meeting hers only to bounce away and back again a moment later. His behaviour was oddly endearing, which was... concerning.

“No,” the witch sighed, reaching out to touch his arm before re-thinking the move and dropping her hand to her side. “I meant, I’m sorry for whatever it is you’re going through. I’m sorry you're trapped in a terrible situation. What can I do?”

Malfoy stared at her, unblinking, for what felt like minutes before a sharp bark of laughter escaped him. “What the fuck do you think you _can_ do, little witch?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered, losing the battle against her tears. Malfoy tracked the crystalline drop as it slid down her rosy cheek, clenched his jaw, and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re facing, though I have a few guesses. But I can’t...I can’t…”  
  
“Can’t what?” The wizard breathed. Feeling her face crumple, Hermione closed the distance between them and pulled the young man into a hug. To his credit, Malfoy struggled, pushing weakly against her shoulders before muttering an even weaker, “Don’t.”  
  
“I can’t act like I don’t care. I can’t sit back and let this happen to you...Draco.” She felt felt him lean into her at the sound of his name and held him just a little tighter. “I am going to help you. One way or another, do you understand me, Draco?”

Slowly, painfully so, Hermione felt his arms slip around her middle before the wizard buried his face in the crook of her neck. She felt the convulsions before the first sob broke free and felt her own tears stream unchecked down her cheeks. “Please…” Malfoy, no, _Draco,_ hiccoughed. “Please, help me?”


End file.
